This Is The Way It Was Supposed To Be
by fairytalemanipulator
Summary: Oneshot CassieDean. Cassie thinks back on their relationship, and comes to a decision.


**Okay, so this is my first fanfic ever. Please be nice, but do review and tell me what I did wrong! I'm not a huge DeanCassie fan, but this just sort of flowed out of me. I can't stop my muses, they're evil like that.**

**Disclaimer: The show doesn't belong to me, the characters don't belong to me, yada yada yada. **

**Rated K+ for a few curses here and there. **

She hated to be wrong, just like him. She hated taking directions from strangers, too. She remembers the one time they got lost going to the beach. They drove around for two hours because they both refused to swallow their pride and ask for information from someone at the gas station. He loved playing pool and poker, and taught her how in just a few days. She grasped the concept with remarkable speed and latched onto the games like they were lifelines. She was a small town girl, used to seeing familiar faces, while he never spent more than two weeks in the same place. The two of them were more alike and more different than any two people in the world, but they completed each other in every sense of the word. In the beginning, he pushed her away when she got too close and she knew it was for her own good. He wouldn't stay, and he would just break her spirit along with her heart like the many men in her life had broken her before. But her inner hope told her that he was different from the rest. Maybe it was the mystery of his life that gave her comfort, in an odd way. For some reason, she felt that he could never hurt her on purpose.

Before he told her his secret, she remembers wondering at all of his nearly-invisible scars. A few weeks into their relationship, she had only glimpsed one or two of them in the daylight. He was quick to shelter her from a world she didn't and wouldn't ever know. While he slept next to her on a quiet, clear night, she traced the raised white marks on his chest with the tip of her brown finger. She remembers lifting her head, only to meet his clear, wide-awake eyes. She held his gaze as he studied her, and then relaxed as he gently moved his muscular arm to drape over her bare back. And she remembers thinking that she's never met someone with so many layers before; she's never met someone just like herself. Even when he was stripped down to his bare skin, he found a way to conceal himself. His barriers were up and ready at a moment's notice.

She never forgot how he looked the one time she caught him unawares, conversing on the phone with his father. She apologized, frightened by the look in his eyes. He cupped her face with his hands and told her it was all okay, it was fine. And she believed him. He gave her faith back to her; her conviction that there were still people out there with hearts of gold. Once upon a time, she believed in superheroes. He put her broken beliefs back together with a shit-eating grin shining the whole time. She remembers how he never pushed, not like her old boyfriends. As cocky as he was, with his whole sex-and-rock-and-roll attitude, she saw it as more of an emotional defense. He would charm her, flirt with her, tease her, and love her, all without admitting that he was capable of heartfelt emotions. Yes, he loved her. He didn't have to say it for her to know it. Just the way they held each other close on dark nights, the way they made love on her couch, in her bed—that said it all. She felt his love beat beneath the fabric of his tee shirt, every time he held her close on an especially dark night. She knew he trusted her when he told her what really happened to his mother, and why he didn't talk to his brother anymore. His brother was the one thing that made him go on for hours with reminiscent stories—he loved Sam with every fiber of his being, and she knew it. She could discern the slightest bit of regret in his voice whenever he spoke of his little brother. He never said anything about why he left for college, but she could guess that Sam's sendoff must have been less than encouraging. She also knew that he would have to leave her one of these days, but she thought, deep down, that she could go with him. _He could train me, just like his father trained him, couldn't he?_, she thought to herself every once in a while. She knew she was grasping at straws. _If I show him I care enough…but we've only known each other a few weeks, _she chided her inner voice. _I'm falling for him, faster than I've ever fallen before…_her subconscious whispered as she served him bacon and eggs for breakfast, smiling down on the hungry, handsome man sitting at the table and banishing wayward, unwanted hopes and dreams.

A few days after he told her what he did for a living, she grew curious. He was always careful never to tell her too much about hunting the supernatural, just enough to satiate her need for knowledge. But this time, she wanted answers. So he was straight with her, and he showed her the trunk of his car. It took her breath away, all of the weapons in their different cases. She saw knives, guns, and things she had only seen in her college textbooks. Her breath hitched as she thought of her boyfriend out there, battling creatures from hell with his arsenal. He could be hurt, he could be _killed_…but he wasn't, he assured her. _At least, not yet, _her cursed inner voice sang to her. While she cried, he was beside her rubbing her back and saying comforting things that meant nothing in the end. Eventually, he cracked a joke as she cracked a smile, and they never mentioned the trunk again. Because he wanted to protect her from that part of his life. He always made sure she was safe and comfortable, and he always would.

Cassie watched him drive away for the second time, gazing at the lasting glow that his fading taillights left in the fog. Sam waved at her in the rearview mirror, and she halfheartedly lifted her hand in response. It dropped soon after, as if it were tired of being held upright. Somehow the parting was easier this time, because she didn't cry. Not like last time, when she was standing stock still in the parking lot of her apartment, watching him gather his things. She had tried to keep him from leaving, but she felt her heart breaking because she knew it was pointless. This was his life; his destiny. It was his calling to save lives, and that was why he had to leave. Who was she to keep him from that? Tears had streamed down her pretty, expressive face as he studiously avoided looking at her. They both knew that this was the end. Throwing the last duffel into the backseat, he looked at her and said, _Maybe we'll see each other again, huh? Don't cry for me, babe. You'll be just fine, I know it. I'll be looking out for your column in the New York Times. Then, I'll be able to tell everyone that I knew that hard-hitting journalist, _he stated with his trademark smirk. He had kissed her hard on the lips, leaving a longing, lasting imprint on her soul that she knew she would never forget. And he had driven away without a backwards glance at the girl that he loved; the girl that he had to leave behind.

This time, she felt closure. She felt a loss, but she knew that she would move on from this. She had always been a believer in fate. Dean had to make his journey with his brother; because that is the way it was always supposed to be. It was their path to travel, to find the monstrous creature that murdered their mother; one day, she would be just a pleasant memory to him, to be revisited when he was reminded of her. Her memory would bring him hope; that maybe there was something called true love, and maybe he had lived it once, not too long ago. The only thing she regretted were the words they never said, not once, not even in their most intimate moments. Cassie lifted her gaze to the stars, as her long brown curls were teased by the wind.

"I'll be right here, if you ever need me again," she whispered into the carrying breeze. "I love you."

She felt the sweet breath of the season take her words, and with the soft gust of wind, Cassie smiled. A gentle, watery smile—in memory of love lost, but not gone.


End file.
